


Metaphorically Covering Your Third Eye

by TheseusInTheMaze



Series: Mauled Monsters [1]
Category: markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Anal Sex, Blind Character, Daddy Play, Diapers, M/M, Watersports, blowjob, bottle feeding, inner monologue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-19 02:41:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14865113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheseusInTheMaze/pseuds/TheseusInTheMaze
Summary: Wilford has a suggestion for the Host. Dark comes along for shits and giggles.





	Metaphorically Covering Your Third Eye

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HappyKonny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HappyKonny/gifts).



The Host had a constant litany in his head. 

It was a nonstop running commentary and description, like the nonstop news coverage at the bottom of a screen.

It was part of his strange gift - when he'd come shivering out of the ether with the rest of Mark's egos, he's lost his sight, but gained insight.

... assuming he'd ever had sight to begin with.

It was all a bit complicated, but if he thought about it for too long his head hurt.

He... sort of had memories.

They were memories from a long way off, admittedly, but they were still memories. 

And now he was blind, but he could... perceive everything.

It was a nonstop narrative in the back of his mind, and it was possibly making him crazy.

Well, relatively crazy.

None of them were exactly... sane, what with one thing and another.

These types of things never really did make sense, did they?

Or maybe he was overthinking it.

He tended to do that.

The Host sighed, and he leaned back in his chair.

The bandage across his eyes was itchy, and his senses were... well, his senses were everywhere.

He knew what was happening, right here and now, and at some point, he was going to have to test that.

See if he could test other things, see if he could figure out a way to test those powers.

Although even when he wasn't speaking, he was still narrating in the back of his head, a running commentary, an observation about everything that was happening around him.

He leaned back in his chair, and he extended his senses out around him, as far as they could go.

All of the egos inhabited the same... space, although it wasn't exactly a space.

The narration in his head was still droning on, and he was mouthing along to it - he didn't have to speak it out loud, but it was always... there.

And then Wilford was just... there.

Wilford was a complicated one - he did... things to the narrative, warped it like a weight on a rubber sheet.

It was odd, to say the least, but in a weird way, it was refreshing. 

It was nice not to know what was going to happen next, even if i was only on a delay of about a minute or so.

Wilford never did things the way that was expected to.

Admittedly, Wilford was also mad as a the proverbial maddest thing in the room, which made him a tad... unpredictable. 

"Host, my dear friend," said Wilford, and he reached over, one arm wrapping around the Host's shoulders.

"Mmm?"

The Host didn't try to shrug it off, because he saw that he wasn't going to.

... admittedly, being able to see the future to the degree that he did made things a bit complicated. 

Sometimes he did things (or didn't do things) just because he knew he was going to do (or not do) them, and if he didn't do them, he ended up with a godsplitter of a headache.

"I was curious," said Wilford, "if you had an interest in a certain type of thing."

"A certain type of thing?"

"Do you remember your _juvenile_ days, friend?"

"Juvenile," the Host echoed, and his tone was flat. 

"Indeed," said Wilford. "So what are you interested in, per se?"

"I'm interested in many things," said the Host, his tone flat. 

"Do you ever miss the bad ol' days?"

"The "bad ol' days?" Which ones?"

"The days when you had a baseball bat and a bad attitude," said Wilford, and his tone sounded faintly wistful.

"That was a long time ago, said the Host. 

"I'd disagree," said Wilford. "It wasn't so long ago."

So long ago that the Host had been the Author - so long ago that he'd been able to manipulate people and things with just his own ideas.

Until what had happened... happened.

He didn't want to talk about that, honestly. 

But now he was blind and... his life continued.

Life could always continue. 

"That's not who I am anymore," the Host said, and he kept his tone firm. 

"Do you ever wish it was?"

"Not really, no," said the Host. 

"Do you ever long for the simpler times in life?"

If the Host had eyes, he would have rolled them. 

As it was, his expression was blank, but... the idea was there.

He had the memory of rolling his eyes.

"The last time things were that simple, I was still in diapers," he told Wilford.

"Would you like to go back in them?"

... the question was such a shock that the Host froze.

"... what?"

"I was thinking," Wilford said, in a tone that was so casual it wasn't, "about the fact that you were a rather unsavory sort as a nipper, and I was considering that perhaps we could... reset that."

"Are you talking about a kinky sex thing?"

"Possibly," Wilford said breezily.

It was no secret that Wilford slept around - all of the egos slept around. 

What else were they supposed to do?

They went on camera when Mark needed them, but otherwise... it wasn't as if the world was crawling with activities for them to engage in.

At least sex didn't do the same things to his future vision that other activities did - what was the point of doing any kind of sport, when he knew how it would end? 

But sex… well, sex was sex.

He might know the official outcome, but the experience of it was half the fun.

Although… what kind of weird kink stuff was Wilford planning?

“I want to do things to you,” Wilford said, and he was right in the Host’s ear.

“What sorts of things?”

“The sorts of things you can’t do in television,” said Wilford. “Maybe a few of those special fantasies of yours.”

The Host raised an eyebrow behind his blindfold.

Few people had access to his innermost thoughts.

Then again, Wilford was a complicated sort of person.

And then Dark was in the room.

… of course Dark was in the room. 

Dark could just… show up when he wanted to, and he did… he did things _differently_.

Much differently.

“I wouldn’t say no to a bit of fun,” said Dark, and he was practically… purring.

Of course he was. 

"What kind of fun are we talking about, exactly?"

The Host kept his voice calm, steady.

He kept up the voice of the narrator, even as the narration yammered away at the back of his head.

That was one reason he liked to speak it out - at least, if he spoke out his narration, he didn't have to try to drown it out with his own words, since his own words were just... echoing.

That probably wasn't very healthy, come to think of it, but not much about him was healthy.

Since he'd... done what he'd done to his eyes, things had gotten more complicated, and he'd been a bit more devil take the hindmost about his own health.

But fuck it.

"I'm willing to try whatever it is that you want to offer," said the Host, although for once, he didn't know what it was.

Both Dark and Wilford were both so... scattered that it could be hard to read their motives, let alone their futures.

Maybe the Host was putting a bit too much thought into this. 

But who was he, if not the one who did a lot of overthinking.

"Come to my room," said Wilford, and he was smirking.

"I assume this invitation is for both of us," said Dark, and his voice was smooth as butter.

"Oh, obviously,' said Wilford, and Dark didn't need to see Wilford's face to know that the weirdo was probably mugging. 

But... why not.

This might be interesting. 

* * *

Wilford's room was cluttered.

Even if the Host couldn't see it, he could sense it - there was a sensation of the walls leaning in, teetering with so much _stuff_.

Wilford tended to hold on to things, although why he chose the specific things he chose was a mystery to all of the other egos. 

Dark was sitting on the bed, and Wilford was rummaging around in his closet.

The Host stood in front of the closed door.

"Now," said Wilford, and he was drawing the word out. "Now."

"Now?"

The Host tried to stretch his awareness, and... was blocked.

Was blocked by the randomness of Wilford's madness, was blocked by the strangeness of... well, Darkiplier in general. 

"Now," said Wilf, "I'm going to take care of you."

"Take care of me," said the Host, his tone deadpan.

He hadn't... sensed that Wilford wanted to kill him, but aforementioned madness in regards to future sight, etcetera, as it is said.

"Oh yes," said Wilf, and his tone was... surprisingly earnest. "You clearly need a chance to relax."

"I do relax," said the Host.

"You could always relax more," said Wilford.

The Host snorted, and he sighed.

"Sure," said the Host, his tone deadpan. "Why not. Let's do this."

"Show some enthusiasm," said Dark, and his voice was sharp all of a sudden. "Wilford is putting a lot of effort into doing something nice for you."

"My apologies," the Host said. "This is about as sincere as I can get."

"We'll see about that," said Wilford, and then he was... he was pushing the Host back, until the Host's head was resting in Darkiplier's lap, and his face was pointed up towards the ceiling.

He was aware of his own breathing - the rise and fall of his chest, the way his stomach was inflating and deflating.

And he was aware that his pants were being pulled down, along with his underwear.

... huh.

He kept breathing, he kept his heartbeat calm, and then he was mouthing things along - he was filling in the narration that was running through his head like so much text, cluttering up his thoughts.

He missed the days when he'd been the Author - it had been easier to at least believe that whatever was compelling him to speak or write or tell the stories that were thrashing around in his head was some kind of muse, and now whatever power it was that took hold of him and used him like a puppet.

And then Dark's fingertip was tracing his ever moving lips, and Dark's thumb was in his mouth.

The Host made a surprised noise, but he sucked on the thumb.

He sucked on the thumb, as Wilford's familiar overheated hands stroked across his cock, squeezing it.

It was... it was a bit much, but it was always a bit much, when Wilford decided to do anything.

The Host had seen it coming, but it was one thing to know that a thing was happening, and another to experience it as it happened.

He knew things - the knowledge tended to just drop in his head like some kind of stone in a river - but that... that was different. 

And he was being sucked. 

His cock was being sucked, and he was sucking on Dark's thumb, even as the narration came up to a crescendo, as the words just blended into a mess of pleasure. 

There was a pleasure to all of this - a pleasure to have something in his mouth, a pleasure to have a mouth on his cock, a pleasure to just be inhabiting a boy that was doing what it was supposed to, more or less.

He would have liked a mind that did what it was supposed to as well, but... well, you can't ever have everything that you want in life.

All he wanted right now was to have the mouth on his cock stay there, was to keep sucking on Dark's thumb, was to keep being taken care of like this.

He knew what it was that Wilford was planning - Wilford was practically broadcasting it like AM radio, all things considered - but the Host was alright with it. 

Among other things, it wasn't like he was doing much of anything important. 

Let alone something so important that would take away the fun bits of... well, fun bits. 

So he kept sucking on Dark's fingers, and he rolled his hips, letting nothing out of his mouth but moans and gasps.

The narration was slowing down, or possible just repeating itself.

Or maybe the Host was so deep into it that he didn't care about the narration, which was a miracle in and of itself. 

"Be a good little boy," said Dark, and that was... that was doing something to the Host.

Something he didn't entirely understand, but he wasn't going to complain about too much, because Wilford was taking his cock down, all the way to the root.

Wilford's nose was pressed against the Host's belly, and Wilford was rolling his hips forward, trying not to be too... mean about it, trying not to be too rough.

"Be a good little boy for us," said Dark, in that same sweet voice, and it was... oh, it was enough to do _things_ to the Host, things he didn't know the names for, didn't know how to describe at all, except that certain parts of his brain were doing things that he didn't know how to describe.

Miracle of miracles, his brain had shut up.

Had full on shut up, and it was a glory to behold, like some kind of modern day exorcism. 

... or maybe he was getting poetic, as he lost himself in the pleasure of having his cock sucked.

He kept fucking into Wilford's mouth, as Dark's cock get hard against the Host's cheek.

"I'm going to fuck your mouth," said Dark, and he said it in such a casual tone of voice, as close as he ever got to sweet, which was... basically not menacing.

Dark shifted, and then he was taking his cock out, and he was... he was lining it up with the Host's mouth, and the Host was opening his mouth, and he was sucking on the thick, salty head of Dark's cock, as he drooled down his chin, his lips getting wetter.

It was all getting... very wet.

The constant flow of the narration was finally starting to quiet down. 

It was... it was just words.

Words for what was happening, or what would happen, and all that was happening right now was wetness.

All that was happening was the hot, thick cock on his tongue, against his lips.

All that was happening was... Wilford's lubed up finger against his asshole?

That was unexpected.

Not that the Host would complain too much - between the cock that was in his mouth and the sweet pleasure that was racing up and down his spine, it was hard to care.

He opened his mouth wider, as Dark shifted, getting more of his cock into the Host's mouth, and then he was... he was filling up the Hosts's mouth, and the Host was just sucking on it, sucking on it almost mindlessly, letting the taste of it fill his whole head. 

The narration was nothing but descriptor words - _tight_ , _hot_ , _wet_ , _big_....

The Host's back arched, and his heels were digging into the bed, as his hips began to roll.

He was breathing through his nose, and he almost wished he could see their faces, as the two of them just... took him.

Used him.

He was a thing for them to use, and that was all that mattered.

All that mattered was that he was giving someone else pleasure, that he was filling his own head with his own pleasure.

He was moaning and he was arching, and then he was being penetrated by Wilford, and he was drooling down his chin.

He heard Dark murmur some kind of vague affectionate... something or other - the kind of affectionate something or other you say to a child, when they're upset about something.

Not even a child - an infant.

That's what they were treating him like.

They were treating him like a baby, to be taken care of, but not really... conferred with, and that was enough to make the Host's cock twitch, right there in Wilford's mouth.

And then... not in Wilford's mouth. 

Then, Wilford was wrapping a hand around the Host's cock, and Wilford was rolling his hips forward, the wet head of his cock pressed against the Host's hole, and it was... it was pushing right into him, it was enough to make the Host's back arch, as he tried to moan around the cock in his mouth.

Dark was fucking his face, but making affectionate noises as he did so - some kind of twisted affection, admittedly, but this _was_ Dark, and he wasn't very good at the whole "presenting as human" thing at the best of times, let alone when he was in the throes of passion.

The Host came, his ass twitching around Wilford's cock, and Wilford made approving noises.

Wilford was babbling, but... well, the Host wasn't really paying attention.

He wasn't paying attention, he was shaking, and his toes were curling, and then there was something sticky and hot and bitter going down his throat, and he was gulping it compulsively, even if he did find it somewhat gross.

But fuck it.

He pulled off of Dark's cock, and then he was... his head was quiet.

He was in someplace quiet, someplace that didn't require the constant running commentary. 

He knew that he was in some kind of altered consciousness - some kind of headspace. 

Which was a good thing, in some ways, although he was almost instantly weary of it.

He was usually weary of things being... different. 

Weary of his mind doing things he didn't want it to do, especially since all of that business, back when he was the Author. 

But Dark and Wilford might have both been dangerous, but they were also... safe, in a weird way.

He trusted them to keep him from doing anything that would put anyone else in danger.

... for the most part.

Wilford's homicidal... foibles were usually related to his own mania, and Dark didn't usually see people as being worth the effort, unless he wanted something from them.

So here he was, safe, able to let go, in the presence of two fellow mauled monsters like himself. 

... there was something almost pathetic about that, although he wasn't sure which side of it, exactly was the pathetic one. 

Maybe he was overthinking.

Even when he didn't have the whole running commentary, he still had his thoughts thinking about the way he thought. 

But now… but now, it was quiet. 

Wilford came in the Host's ass, and okay, that was... that was a little gross, but it was a satisfying sort of gross.

And then... Dark was pulling away, and Wilford was pulling away. 

The two of them were talking about... something.

The Host didn't really understand.

"Maybe we should take the blindfold off," said Wilford, from a long way off.

"You don't want to see what's under all of that," said Dark. 

Dark's voice sounded... off, but then again, the Host was off in some other world right now.

He was breathing, and he was... he was lying here, in just a t-shirt.

"Will," said Dark, and he sounded faintly amused, "you didn't."

"If I'm going to commit to an experience," said Wilford, with as much dignity as he ever had, "I'm going to commit to an experience. Would you doubt me?"

"Far be it from me to doubt you," Dark said, his tone dry. "Although if you're going to go down that road, I'm going to be elsewhere."

"I thought you wanted to be in on this!"

Wilford sounded frustrated, and the Host frowned.

He was... he was aware of his own body, an awareness that he didn't usually have.

He was actually noticing what it felt like to _frown_ \- he could feel the way his eyebrows were knitting together, the line forming between them.

He almost wanted to say something with it, but... no.

No, there was no narration, there was no future vision, it was just... him. 

It was just him,lying on his back like this, and he wanted to suck his thumb, he wanted... what did he want?

He didn't exactly know what it was that he wanted, except that he didn't know how to get it.

He was... if he had eyes to cry, he might have been crying now, and that was a strange thing to think about.

He made a distressed noise, and then... and then Dark was gone.

Just like that.

The Host just... knew.

He couldn't have told you how he knew - it wasn't one of his weirder senses picking up on it. 

It was just... there had been three people in the room.

Now there were two people in the room.

And... and Wilford was making annoyed noises.

"I was going to do this with Dark," he groused, but he was... what _was_ he doing?

The Host wasn't sure.

Except there was soft fabric being wrapped around his lower body, and that was.. unexpected.

Was he being swaddled?

Then he was being... pinned into something.

He felt down, cautiously, and found himself... diapered.

He was wearing a cloth diaper.

An old fashioned cloth diaper, too - it was a big piece of fabric, which had been folded up to be the right shape.

This was... well, it was weird, to say the least.

And then something was being dragged up his legs, and that felt... that felt odd.

That felt very odd, and he was distantly aware of it, but he wasn't really paying attention.

He was paying attention to the quiet in his head, and the feeling that was almost like serenity.

It was strange.

Strange, and almost intense.

... sort of.

He... he didn't know.

And then Wilford was taking each of his hands, kissing the palms.

"I know you think that I'm crazy," he told the Host, and his voice was surprisingly... lucid.

To a degree that the Host hadn't exactly expected.

Not that Wilford generally sounded crazy, but there was a... levelness to his voice.

"I don't -"

"Shhh," said Wilford, and he covered the Host's mouth with one of his fingers, gently; a shushing motion that you'd use on any child.

The Host blushed, and then wasn't sure why.

"Let me take care of you," said Wilford. "I'll be your Daddy. At least for a little bit."

That was... a bit ludicrous, but why not?

In the long term, it wasn't any weirder than any of the other shit that went on around here, was it?

So the Wilford wanted to be called Daddy.

Why not?

The Host nodded, and then he was being sat up.

He leaned against Wilford, as his shirt fell back down to cover his belly, and then he was... being sat on the floor.

The Host could only sense what was going to happen a few seconds in the future, which was... which was something.

It was scary - was this what it was like, to be a regular person?

Granted, none of them had ever been regular people - they existed in a sort of... limbo, in a way that was so complicated that he didn't ever want to think about it too hard.

Let alone here. 

Let alone now.

And then Wilford was sitting on the floor next to him, thigh to thigh, and the two of them were messing around with blocks.

They were solid, heavy, wooden blocks, and the Host explored them with his fingers, carefully. 

There were letters cut into the sides of it, and numbers, and he had to feel each and every one of them, before he could put them down.

He wondered, faintly, if he'd be able to make words like this.

... he was sucking his thumb this time.

How about that?

The diaper was thick and soft, and it kept his legs wide open, putting him a little bit off balance.

There was something almost... nice about that.

He didn't know.

He didn't know a blessed thing, and there was so much relief in that, even as he leaned against Wilford, beginning to stack the blocks.

"I like you like this," Wilford said. "So quiet."

"Sorry," the Host said.

"Sorry for what?"

"I don't know," the Host said. "It just feels like there's something that I should be sorry for."

"Can you trust your Daddy to tell you if you need to be sorry for something?"

The Host paused.

... could he trust Wilford for something like that? 

Well, not entirely, but at least, in this current setting... probably. 

"Do you want a bottle?"

Wilford's voice was calm, almost sweet, which was... equally unusual.

The Host paused, then nodded.

Did he have any words in his head at all?

He could _feel_ them, at a distance - like trying to touch something that was covered by a cloth.

He licked his lips, and then he was leaning against Wilford again, his head on Wilford's chest.

There was a rubber nipple in his mouth, and he was... sucking on it.

It was water.

Cold, sweet water, and it was refreshing, especially after he'd swallowed Dark's jizz, which always had a slightly... off feel to it.

And Wilford was just... stroking the Host's hair back.

"Dark likes you like this," said Wilford. "He's just... distracted."

The Host resisted the urge to shrug his shoulders.

He was fine with it, one way or another.

He liked the quiet of this headspace, but it did mean that he wasn't quite as... in touch with some things as he had been.

He sighed, and he drank his water, and then he was being lain down on the bed again, and he was sprawling out on his back, with Wilford next to him.

"I'm going to read to you," Wilford told the Host.

A story.

As if the Host needed to hear other people's stories.

Although then again, with his head as empty as it was now... maybe he would enjoy it.

So he just nodded, still flat on his back, and he slid his thumb into his mouth, beginning to suck it. 

Why not right?

It felt... right. 

In a weird way.

All of this was weird.

He sighed, and he began to relax into the bed, as Wilford's words rolled over him. 

* * *

The Host woke up some time later, with a full bladder and a fuzzy head. 

A very fuzzy head - he didn't know what time it was, where he was, any of it.

It took a few seconds to realize that his legs were forced apart by the cloth diaper, that he was sweating a bit from the plastic diaper cover, that the warm body next to his was Wilford's. 

Not that he didn't appreciate a warm body next to his - far from it - but there was a time and a place for that kind of thing.

He yawned widely, his jaw cracking, and then Wilford was snuggling up to him, nuzzling into his neck.

"Hi," Wilford said, and his hand was... pressing down on the Host's stomach, and okay that was... that was actually uncomfortable, considering that the Host had to pee. 

Oh god. 

"With all that water that you drank," said Wilford, in that voice like poisoned honey, "you should be wet by now."

The Host bit his lip, and he was blushing.

"That you're not... suggests a few things. Won't you let go for your Daddy?"

The Host was blushing, unsure as to why.

Well, no, he knew why - this was humiliating.

This was almost beyond humiliating.

But it was also turning him on, and that was the... weird bit.

Oh god.

He licked his lips, and he sighed, pressing closer.

He could do this.

He _would_ do this.

He was going to do what was needed to do, to maintain the quiet in his head.

He knew he'd never be able to keep this up all the time - he wouldn't even want to keep it up all the time, truth be told.

But for now... for now, it was nice.

With a sigh that was almost a sob, the Host let go.

The Host let go, and he pissed.

He pissed into the cloth diaper, and it was... it was hot and wet, and it stuck to his skin unpleasantly, but in a weird way, the unpleasantness of it was nice.

There was a comfort about being vulnerable like this.

To being this kind of desperate, this kind of... needing someone.

Also, Wilford had an erection, and was grinding against the Host's hip.

Of course he did.

"Wet little guy," Wilford said, in a sympathetic tone of voice.

And then Dark was back.

Just like that, Dark was back.

... why?

"So," said Dark, and he was just... sitting on the edge of the bed, "did you miss me?"

Oh.

It was Dark... being Dark.

Of course it was. 

Despite the fact that the Host was the only one in a diaper, Dark was most definitely the brattiest person in the room.

"I think he missed his other Daddy," said Wilford, in a voice that was bordering on personable.

That was always mildly creepy.

Then again, most of the things that Wilford and Dark did were creepy, mildly or otherwise.

But Dark's hand was coming down to rest on top of the Host's head, stroking the Host's hair off of his face.

The Host sighed, and he nuzzled into the hand.

Dark made some kind of affectionate noise, and then his thumb was sliding back into the Host's mouth. 

He seemed to like to keep it there.

The Host wasn't going to complain too hard.

"Good boy," Dark said, and he ruffled the Host's hair.

"So I take it you're above changing diapers?"

Wilford sounded amused, or slightly annoyed.

It was a bit hard to tell, when the Host was in the headspace he was currently in. 

"I will if I get something out of it," Dark said, in a tone that was bordering on smug.

"The satisfaction in not having to smell piss anymore?"

"I'll just stay up here at this end, then," said Dark. 

"You're a terrible Daddy," said Wilford, but it was clear he was teasing. 

There was something... there was something different here, something he didn't entirely understand.

Wilford and Dark had some kind of deep, complicated history that the rest of the egos didn't have.

It wasn't really talked about - it was assumed that there was something especially dark and painful there, although there were a few different theories as to it. 

But none of that mattered right now, did it?

All that mattered was the quiet in the Host’s head, and the warmth of Dark’s hand, and the gentle way that Wilford was pulling the diaper cover off of him.

It was… it was nice.

He would have to do this again.

**Author's Note:**

> Like this fic?
> 
> Want me to write you something like it, or something completely different?
> 
> Come talk to me on my tumblr, theseusinthemaze.tumblr.com!


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